


The King's Gift

by Allemande



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Canon - Book, Love, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allemande/pseuds/Allemande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Yes, I can help you dispel the Darkness which those two magicians carry with them. But I cannot do it until you have revealed your very own truth. It is quite impossible for me to perform magic with an unfinished man."<br/>Two magicians in very respectable positions start developing not-so-respectable feelings for one another.<br/>Also, communications with Strange and Norrell, a new and exciting magical Land, and that symbol Childermass keeps dreaming about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Muffled (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated fans of the Childermass/Segundus pairing, welcome! I feel it is my duty to warn you: This is a slow and subtle one. I'm trying to imagine what it was like for two men to fall in love around 1800. I.e. no snogging in the street and no quickie in the refectory. (Sorry.) Also, no immediate acceptance of the fact in their friends' or even in their own hearts.  
> That having been said, I think it's not too melodramatic, just a slow, slow burn, so if you like it, stick with it. ;-) Thanks for stopping by!

**Prologue: Muffled**  
  
On a rainy Thursday afternoon in the autumn of 1819, Lucy, cook-housekeeper to John Childermass, sat in the kitchen of Mr and Mrs Winter's, where her brother Carl was butler. They took tea together once a fortnight.  
  
Carl, having noticed at their last meeting that Lucy was not quite as cheerful as usual, and finding her unchanged, asked her what was wrong.  
  
She looked at him anxiously. “You can keep a secret, can't you, Carl? Only I promised not to tell. And I do not wish to throw him into disrepute.”  
  
Carl assured her that he could, indeed, keep a secret, and thankfully she knew this to be the case from past experience, otherwise the way in which he leaned forward eagerly might have worried her.  
  
Lucy took a deep breath and began. “The secret of a good roast is the timing. First you must fry it in very hot oil, taking care to turn it swiftly so it will roast from all sides and not burn. Then you must remove the meat, all the while leaving the pot on the fire, and immediately pour a good measure of red wine into the pot, a process which is called deglazing –”  
  
She clamped her mouth shut, her hand covering it. “That is not what I meant to say!” she gasped as Carl looked on in bewilderment...  
  
Here is what Lucy would have told had she been able to.  
  
“A little more than four weeks ago, as I was preparing master's lunch as usual before leaving for Mrs Corner's, there was a knock on the door. Now there's often visitors when master is out, people asking for this and that magical service, but imagine my surprise when I saw Mr Segundus standing in the doorway! I was fairly sure master hadn't seen him in months because when I'd asked him only a week before whether we would have Mr Segundus over again one of these days – he very much likes my chicken fricassee – he grew very tight-lipped and just shook his head.  
  
“Anyway, I asked Mr Segundus to come in and wait for master and settled him in the parlour with some tea and biscuits, and then I asked him whether he'd had a good journey, and from the way he replied it sounded like he'd come directly from Wiltshire without a single stop, only twice to change carriages! ' Well, you must be exhausted,' said I, and he only nodded and leaned back against the sofa, closing his eyes.  
  
“I was not sure whether master would want him to stay for lunch, but I hurried out and got some extra meat and carrots just in case. I always make enough potatoes anyway, you remember, Carl?  
  
“ When I came back, I barely had enough time to prepare the extra food before Mr C came home. I met him in the hall to warn him that he had a guest. When I told him it was Mr Segundus – well, I have never seen him go so white in my life!  
  
“I'm not proud of what I did next. Gentlemen ought to have their privacy. But I was just so curious to see what had unsettled master so, because he is usually so very much in control of himself. So as soon as I had readied everything for lunch, I went and watched through the keyhole.  
  
“First I thought I could not hear anything that was said, but it turned out they were not, in fact, saying anything. Mr C was sitting opposite Mr S and staring at him in a way he rarely does – very unguarded, just frankly astonished, really. And then he said, 'You are leaving Starecross?'  
  
“Mr S took a long time to reply too. All the while they were looking at each other in a very odd way. 'I might be able to,' he said finally. 'If I am – that is to say, if there is a place for me in London.'  
  
“'But you enjoy teaching,' my master said quietly. 'Why would you want to leave?'  
  
“Mr Segundus replied something about teaching not fulfilling him as it used to, and for some reason Mr C still looked very much baffled. 'And Mr Honeyfoot would take over for you,' he said, and Mr S nodded. 'And one of your old pupils wishes to start as a junior teacher.'  
  
“'There was no magic involved, in case you are wondering,' Mr S smiled, and I saw my master smiling back, the way he only ever did when Mr Segundus was here – when they were not arguing, that is.  
  
“'Only the magic of serendipity, perhaps,' my master said.  
  
“'My thoughts exactly,' replied Mr Segundus.  
  
“They sat in silence for a while longer, then Mr S cleared his throat and said, 'So what do you think? Is there need in town for another practical magician?'  
  
“The next thing Mr C said was too low for me to catch, but I could not believe my eyes: my master sat next to Mr Segundus and kissed him full on the mouth!  
  
“I must have given a shout of some sort, because they stopped and Mr C looked towards the closed door. I ran to the kitchen as fast as I could and started packing up my things to leave for the day. Just as I had finished my last bag – you know he always tells me to take whatever is left for myself – he came into the kitchen.  
  
“'You've made enough lunch for two, I see,' he said.  
  
“'Yes, sir,' I replied as I, not knowing what to do with myself, stirred the sauce a little more. 'I was not sure whether Mr Segundus would be eating with you.'  
  
“'He will, thank you.' He paused and watched me as he leaned against the tabletop.  
  
“'Lucy,' he said at last.  
  
“'Yes, master?' I must have done no more than squeak.  
  
“'You know you are free to leave my service whenever you wish,' he said.  
  
“'Oh!' I exclaimed. That had not even occurred to me. 'Sir, I do not wish –'  
  
“'Very well,' he said. 'I merely wished to say it. If you are ever – uncomfortable – with anything you see or hear in my household, I require only a few weeks' notice and you may –'  
  
“'I do not wish to leave, Sir,' I repeated, looking at him firmly.  
  
“'Good,' he smiled. 'Nor do I wish you to, Lucy. You are an excellent cook and housekeeper.' He stared at me a little harder. 'Now, you are aware, I think, of the fact that the profession of magician is once more becoming a highly respected one.'  
  
“'Yes, sir.'  
  
“'It follows from this that being housekeeper to a magician is a very respectable position as well.'  
  
“'Yes, sir.' He was quite right – you yourself, Carl, have told me how you often hear people speaking of me in such tones.  
  
“'I need hardly say,' continued Mr C and narrowed his eyes at me – you know how scary he can look –, 'that anything said about a magician... any gossip, any untoward stories... well, Lucy, it would damage his and his staff's reputation severely.'  
  
“'I understand, sir.'  
  
“'Good. I need you to give me your word, Lucy,' he said quietly and earnestly.  
  
“'You have it, sir. You have my word.'  
  
“And I meant it, Carl, I really meant it. Telling my brother doesn't count, does it? And you will not tell anyone, will you? Only it has been weighing on my mind so. It is a relief to see master so happy, it really is, I have not ever seen him like this. But it is nonetheless strange, isn't it?”


	2. Vexed

- _January 1819-_

  
  
“Miss Sandalwood,” Segundus said, “you know what this is about, I presume.”  
  
The tall, gangly girl of seventeen sitting opposite her headmaster stared at him wide-eyed. “Yes, sir.”  
  
Segundus thought it a mark of her good character that she did not deny it. It would have been foolish to: there was no mistake about what he had walked into two weeks ago in the greenhouses.  
  
“Now, Miss Sandalwood, I know seventeen is a difficult age, and there are certain... questions and curiosities,” Segundus conceded. “However, I must know I can have full confidence in my pupils. We have certain standards of behaviour here at Starecross, and I expect you to follow them.”  
  
He swallowed. So far not unlike a speech others had heard before her (the talking-to he had given Mr Watkins and Miss Taylor one year ago sprang to mind). Now to the hard part.  
  
“And I need hardly mention the extraordinary impropriety of such... relations between two people of the same sex.”  
  
Miss Sandalwood's face was fully red now, and she looked like she would have liked the carpet to swallow her up. “Yes, sir.”  
  
“Master Honeyfoot is speaking at this very moment to Miss Smith,” said Segundus. (He had talked to Honeyfoot about this at length, in fact; they had agreed that this kind of behaviour had to be dealt with swiftly. So Honeyfoot talked to Miss Smith, who was in his class, and Segundus to Miss Sandalwood, who was in his.) “I know you two are good friends, but it might be advisable to spend a little less time together in the near future.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“If that is understood,” Segundus said amiably, “then we shall say no more about it.”  
  
Miss Sandalwood looked up, and he saw a world of gratitude in her eyes. The girl had perhaps thought she was being expelled, Segundus thought ruefully. “Thank you, sir.”  
  


* * *

  
  
After his trembling pupil had left the library, his tasks done for the day, Segundus settled himself comfortably in a corner with a book, and was undisturbed until Childermass arrived. It turned out he had been in the vicinity on business, and despite Segundus' initial worries, they ended up spending a surprisingly pleasant afternoon together.  
  
Until Childermass teased him one too many times by calling him “Mr Segundus” and “sir”.  
  
“What would you have me call you, sir?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifted in an amused smile, when Segundus complained.  
  
Segundus made an exasperated sound and closed his own book with a snap. “You know very well that we are equals, you and I. We are both magicians. You, I daresay, are several steps ahead of me regarding practical experience. There is no sense in me calling you Childermass and you calling me sir, or _Mr_ Segundus.”  
  
Childermass smiled, a real smile this time, but said nothing.  
  
“And it's not as though this is how we called each other at first,” Segundus added. “You have picked the habit up from the Club, and I daresay you do it mainly for your own sordid amusement.”  
  
Childermass' voice, as always after a long silence, stroked the air like a violoncello. “Would you prefer 'my dear fellow', then, as Mr Honeyfoot has it?”  
  
Segundus snorted. “Well, at least he does not call me 'sir' and 'an incomparably block-headed ass' alternately.”  
  
“Ah.” Childermass closed his book as well and steepled his hands together. “This is about last December, then.”  
  
“No, this is not about last December.” Segundus could feel himself getting heated again, the way that he only got with Childermass. Kindly and patient as a schoolmaster, soft-spoken and polite to everyone else, somehow with Childermass he regularly managed to get so riled up that it amazed him, sometimes, that they still spent time in each other's company.  
  
And yet, they saw each other more often than Segundus would have expected; first, at the York Society for English magicians, then at the newly formed London Club of Magicians. (Starecross was closer to London than to York, and Childermass spent more time in London these days than in the North.)  
  
“Perhaps calling you that in front of the whole Club was not the kindest thing I have ever done,” Childermass said in his velvety voice, all the while a sarcastic smile playing around his eyes which belied the essentially decent thing he had just said.  
  
This was exactly why he annoyed Segundus so very, very much.  
  
“Look, it is not _about_ our argument on Tantony's essay. I hardly even remember it. It is not exactly an uncommon occurence that you and I argue.”  
  
“No,” Childermass agreed. “I believe we have worked up quite a reputation.”  
  
Segundus shrugged. “I daresay I –” He caught himself just in time before saying that he preferred arguing with Childermass to the unimaginably dull conversation with almost everyone else at the Club.  
  
“I do not care what reputation we have,” he ventured instead. “Be that all as it may, it makes me exceedingly uncomfortable having you address me as anything other than just plain Segundus.”  
  
Childermass held his gaze for a moment, then returned to his book, saying, “Very well. Plain Segundus it is.”  
  
They read their books in companionable silence until Honeyfoot joined them in the library, laughingly expressed his astonishment at finding them sitting so peacefully together, and recommended that Segundus get some rest as they had exams scheduled for the following day.  
  
Downstairs, Childermass said his polite goodbyes to Honeyfoot, tipped his hat towards Segundus in a slightly more insolent fashion, and disappeared into the night.


	3. Summoned

_-March 1819-_

 

  
  
Two weeks passed in which Miss Sandalwood did not address Segundus once and looked fearfully away whenever she was addressed. Segundus was sorry of it; the girl was one of his best pupils. Finally, after two weeks, she came to him with something she had found in Belasis. Interestingly, she seemed to have hit on a possible way of pointing towards the current whereabouts of Strange and Norrell.  
  
“I know it has been attempted a hundred times in the last two years, sir,” she said apologetically. “But I have not heard of anyone trying this particular spell.”  
  
“It would certainly be more likely to capture Mr Strange's attention that some other attempts I have heard of,” Segundus mused, studying the spell in question. “The last time I heard from him, he was very keen on the connection between man and all other life that inhabits the earth. Trees were his particular favourite, and this spell particularly mentions their importance.”  
  
“Quite,” nodded Miss Sandalwood emphatically. She had, he knew, read all the essays he had published about Strange.  
  
“Sir, would you...” Here she faltered. She was still rather alarmed, it seemed, at being on normal terms with her headmaster again.  
  
“W-would you cast it with me, sir?” Miss Sandalwood attempted again.  
  
Segundus frowned. It was not as though he did not wish to honour the girl's achievements; but he was not sure it would be deemed respectable for the headmaster of Starecross School to attempt a similar thing. This he explained to Miss Sandalwood.  
  
“I understand, sir.” Miss Sandalwood paused. “Perhaps... if it is not too much trouble... you might mention it to your friend, Mr Childermass? After all, he had a particular connection to Mr Norrell and perhaps...” Miss Sandalwood faltered again, twisting her hands together nervously.  
  
Segundus smiled a little smile. He was not sure that Childermass was all too keen on seeing Norrell again. “I will certainly mention it, Miss Sandalwood. I cannot promise he will cooperate, however.”

* * *

  
  
Childermass, as it turned out, was keen enough, be it only to perform new magic that he had not yet attempted. As with so many books of magic now, the only known copy of Belasis apart from the one at Hurtfew was at Starecross.  
  
A number of magical texts had been found, and donated to the school, after Strange and Norrell had left England. It seemed that now that Norrell was gone people were less wary of producing their long-hidden books; and Childermass, now no longer obliged to do Norrell's bidding, had helped in bringing forth a number of them for the school, receiving modest fees in return and the right to come and go as he pleased. Which was why he was now frequently found in a corner of the school's library, engrossed in a book and smoking a pipe.  
  
“You are coming after all, then?” Childermass said as Segundus walked with them towards the stream in the nearby woods where they had decided to base the spell.  
  
“I am merely making sure my pupil is safe,” shrugged Segundus. “She is my responsibility, after all. I will in no way get involved in the casting of it.”  
  
“And that is probably better for everyone involved.”  
  
Segundus, trying to decide whether to roll his eyes or to smile, opted for the latter when he saw Miss Sandalwood's alarmed look.  
  
Once arrived at the stream, Childermass held the silver basin while Miss Sandalwood ladled fresh water into it; then, using thick strands of ivy they had found on the forest ground, they tied the basin's handles on either side to the trees standing closest to each other (according to Belasis, their close proximity would make it more likely for them to speak with each other).  
  
Miss Sandalwood took a deep breath and cast a questioning glance at Childermass, who nodded. Each placed one hand on a tree and the other on a handle, thereby holding up the basin between them.  
  
(Segundus had questioned the utility of the extra support from the ivy, which had led to another heated discussion between him and Childermass, the latter exclaiming how obvious it was that they would need two conduits on either side and Segundus rolling his eyes and asking how he could possibly be so sure about the workings of a spell he had never seen. All the while, Miss Sandalwood had watched their exchange, looking embarrassed.)  
  
Both started muttering under their breath, their eyes closed. Segundus watched. It was wonderful to see other magicians at work, especially naturals like Childermass, who did not tense or flinch like others, but stood quite slack, letting the magic flow through him.  
  
Having reached the end of their appeal to the trees, the two magicians opened their eyes and looked first at each other, then at the silver basin.  
  
Two specks of light appeared in the water and grew rapidly larger.  
  
“Oh my –” breathed Miss Sandalwood, trembling.  
  
“Steady,” hissed Childermass, and the pupil composed herself.  
  
The specks of light turned into green dots, which grew into leaves, which grew into water lilies, out of which rose the unmistakeable, albeit miniature forms of Jonathan Strange and Gilbert Norrell.  
  
“Segundus,” exclaimed Strange, seeing him first.  
  
Segundus touched his hat. “Mr Strange. I am delighted to see you are well.”  
  
Strange smiled his wry smile. “Am I? I appear to be quite a bit smaller than you, as well as currently standing on a floating green boat of some fashion.”  
  
“Water lily,” supplied Childermass, to Strange's right.  
  
“Childermass,” exclaimed the thin voice of miniature Norrell. “This is your doing? Belasis' water lilies?”  
  
“Mine and Miss Sandalwood's, sir,” Childermass said, inclining his head towards the pupil, who was staring at the two magicians open-mouthed.  
  
“M-maria S-sandalwood at your service, sirs,” she stammered. “I am a pupil at Starecross School.”  
  
Segundus winced.  
  
“Starecross School?” said tiny Mr Norrell, turning to Segundus. “Sir –”  
  
“How many times, Mr Norrell,” said Strange in a tired voice. “England is full of magic now. You played no small part in this. Better let them be educated by John Segundus than let them roam free and unsupervised.”  
  
“I suppose,” Norrell sniffed.  
  
Segundus made a little bow towards Strange.  
  
“Man speaks to tree, tree speaks to water, water speaks to man,” said Strange, smiling at Childermass and then at Miss Sandalwood, who looked like she might explode with happiness. “That is the magic of the earth.”  
  
“Might we inquire,” said Segundus, “where you are at the moment, sirs, and whether you are well?”  
  
“Oh, I believe it must be somewhere between Faerie and the land that Pike described in his second book,” Strange shrugged. “We have been getting a lot of visitors at Hurtfew as of late. Some of them friendly, others less so.”  
  
“But we have gained a stupendous amount of knowledge,” Norrell said, reverently, and almost a little smugly. “I wish you could join us, there is so much we could show you.” This last remark had been directed at Childermass.  
  
“Join you in the Darkness, sir?” Childermass replied. “I assume you have not yet managed to dispel it.”  
  
Both men shook their heads, but looked only moderately put out by this.  
  
Childermass looked impassive. “I thank you, but I have other things to do here in England.” Segundus knew he was not going to talk of the Raven King's book and their continued efforts to translate it.  
  
“D-do you know when you shall be back?” Miss Sandalwood asked, looking terrified of speaking to her idols.  
  
“It is hard to say,” said Norrell and Strange in unison, and while one looked rather delighted at this, the other seemed a bit impatient.  
  
“Well, this has been interesting,” said Jonathan Strange. “But I fear we must go back to the feast now. There is still lots of bramble stew left and the steward of Gold Mountain has promised to show us how he can dance with every single person at once.” He tipped his hat. “Farewell, my fellow magicians.”  
  
They disappeared, and Miss Sandalwood sank down to the ground, staring straight ahead in wordless rapture, while Childermass frowned down at the basin.  
  
“I am sure he makes up half of the things he says.”  
  
Segundus laughed.

* * *

  
  
Childermass smiled to himself as he rode through the night towards London. His visits to Starecross, once every two or three months except for special occasions such as this one, were always a welcome distraction.  
  
He had little to do these days for the government. After the disappearance of Strange and Norrell, he had been called upon frequently; this was when – and he assumed these two aspects were equally important – doubts were still rife on the permanence of Napoleon's imprisonment on Saint Helena, and the British leaders had not yet reached a unanimous view on the place of magic in modern government.  
  
Now, two years later, their enthusiasm had waned quite a bit – with magicians in general and, Childermass knew, with the propriety of employing a former servant. He was now mainly solicited in private matters by wealthy gentlemen and ladies (which provided him with a comfortable living), a few minor figures in government, and once, Lord Castlereagh who wanted him to spy on Tsar Alexander I.  
  
But most of the magic he performed was of a trivial nature, and it was therefore thrilling to perform magic such as the one found out by that girl Sandalwood.  
  
And, yes, he had to admit this to himself – it was gratifying to hear from Norrell's lips that he was missed. Not nearly enough to tempt him to join his old master, of course; but gratifying.  
  
He hoped it would serve to take his mind off that symbol he kept dreaming about.


	4. Examined

_-May 1819 -_

 

Vinculus was in town again and had invited himself quite unceremoniously to Starecross, where he knew he was always well fed and watered in exchange for his skin being pored over for hours on end by Segundus and Childermass, and sometimes Honeyfoot when he could find the time. But Honeyfoot was a practical fellow, much more inclined to spend time outdoors with the pupils and with his wife and daughters, who had by now relocated to Starecross (his daughter Jane, incidentally, now also being taught magic).  
  
Segundus, while he greatly enjoyed the outdoors, did not mind spending time in the library working on the translation of the Raven King's new book. As it was, however, he did not particularly look forward to it this time, as his last argument with Childermass had vexed him rather more than usual, and he knew the man well enough to know that even though he might let the subject itself go, his dark gazes and ironic twists of the mouth would still communicate very well what he thought of Segundus' “overcautious nature” and “self-satisfied numbness”.  
  
“You could cut it with a knife,” Vinculus commented after half an hour had passed without their saying so much as a word.  
  
“It is a tempting offer,” said Childermass, “but we want to preserve every last one of the Raven King's words.”  
  
Vinculus cackled. “I meant the air! The tension in here is like... I don't know... like the calm before a storm.”  
  
Or after, Segundus thought as he redrew a symbol he had copied poorly the last time. There was an animal in the upper right corner of that triangle that, now he looked properly, looked more like a deer than a hound.  
  
Vinculus looked at them both and bared his yellow teeth in a grin. “What was it about this time?”  
  
“Never you mind,” Childermass growled, his hair falling into his face as he wrote down a new passage from Vinculus' back.  
  
“Oh, come on,” Vinculus whinged. “I never get to hear of anything that passes inside the walls of the great and impressive London Club of Magicians.”  
  
“Perhaps you should not have let yourself be expelled from the meetings,” Childermass retorted wryly.  
  
Vinculus shrugged. “Perhaps. Who knew that those gentlemen would object to a little song and dance on their ceremonial rug.”  
  
“ _Naked_ song and dance,” Childermass pointed out, and Segundus had to smile. One year spent in the York Society and another in the London Club had taught him one thing: There was nothing more tedious than a group of old men in wigs (and a few women wearing feathers) who took themselves too seriously. Vinculus had been a welcome, if sometimes alarming distraction.  
  
“Well,” said Vinculus suddenly, hopping down from the table he had been sitting on and rapidly pulling on his shirt, “I shan't sit here and be gawped at any longer unless you tell me what you argued about.”  
  
Segundus and Childermass exchanged a glance and rolled their eyes.  
  
“Vinculus –,” protested Segundus.  
  
“No, I shan't,” repeated Vinculus, crossing his arms. “Come on, gentlemen. Give an old book some new stories.”  
  
Childermass shook his head silently, but he knew as well as Segundus that they needed Vinculus, and therefore, had to sometimes give in to his changing moods.  
  
“It was about _brughs_ ,” Segundus offered.  
  
“No, it was about the roads leading to Faerie,” Childermass objected.  
  
“Ho, ho!” laughed Vinculus. “That is a good start.”  
  
“Childermass believes we ought to examine the new roads and try to find the _brugh_ that was once built by the Raven King,” Segundus said, leaning back and crossing his arms. “With no reference at all to the dozens of men and women who have disappeared down those roads in the last two years, never mind before that.”  
  
“While Segundus believes we have other things to worry about,” Childermass supplied, smiling ironically. “That we should concern ourselves with learning the ways of the trees and the stones here in England and never venture into Faerie.”  
  
“I never said such a thing!” Segundus protested hotly. “I am as interested in the King's origins as you are! I just do not think we can so easily ignore the dangers –”  
  
“The dangers, always the dangers –”  
  
“And what do the other magicians in the Club say?” Vinculus interrupted them both, clearly bored already by their squabbling.  
  
Childermass and Segundus were silent, then both mumbled something about the other magicians being interested in other matters entirely.  
  
“So it is the same as ever,” Vinculus said, in that scarily wise tone he sometimes adopted. “You two are the only ones interested in matters deeper than washing laundry or curing colds.”  
  
Segundus and Childermass exchanged a quick glance, but said nothing. Vinculus snorted, removed his shirt again and sat back on the table.


	5. Charmed

_\- May 1819 -_  
  
  
“I have news about Pike.”  
  
Segundus looked up to find Childermass standing in the doorway of his office. It was the morning after Vinculus' return. They had spent three hours on end in the library that evening before retiring to bed, Vinculus and Childermass to the respective chambers which were always kept free for them at Starecross for whenever they would visit.  
  
“Ah yes?” Segundus inquired, rather glad of the distraction from the essays he had to mark.  
  
“A wealthy lady from Bath by the name of Hernsby writes that she owns copies of the first and second volume of 'Miscellaneous Spells  & Sundry'.”  
  
Segundus stood, his excitement growing. That was the first real lead they had found ever since they had heard of this author from Strange and had subsequently searched for the name of his publication in all the other books at Starecross library.  
  
“Interesting. The name is right, and she mentions the two volumes. Is she inclined to sell them?”  
  
“That is, I fear, where it gets complicated,” Childermass sighed. “She expresses herself very obliquely on this point, and mentions several times how it is an old, valuable family heirloom.”  
  
“Ah, that is just to get the price up,” Segundus said with a wave of his hand. “Will you go?”  
  
Childermass nodded. “However, I rather think it would further the cause if you came with me. She may be more inclined to give it to the headmaster of Starecross than to Norrell's erstwhile servant. And the fact that you are a proper _gentleman_ may also help.” He smirked as Segundus rolled his eyes. “Look, it would only be a matter of two or three days. Did you not tell me that you and Mr Honeyfoot had been planning on a trip to the seaside with the pupils?”  
  
“Which I rather thought I would undertake with them.” Segundus sighed. “I will have to talk to Honeyfoot. He will not be best pleased.”  
  
When asked, Honeyfoot – ever-patient, understanding Honeyfoot – paused to collect his thoughts, looked as though he might remark upon something, and then said that he saw no reason why he and Master Hartley should not be able to deal with one-and-twenty students by themselves.  
  
Vinculus, when he heard that his Readers would be out of town for three days and he could do as he pleased, gave a little whoop and danced out of the room.  
  
And it was surely Segundus' imagination that he had regarded the two of them rather oddly before leaving.

* * *

  
The interview with Mrs Hernsby went much better than Segundus had expected. Childermass had been right; the presence of the headmaster of what was so far the only school of magic in England did much to impress her, as did, quite obviously, the attentions of two men in their prime. Segundus watched, fascinated, as Childermass employed not only his honeyed voice but also his brown, heavily lashed eyes to his advantage.  
  
Yet it seemed to be with Segundus that Mrs Hernsby, a widow in her forties, was even more taken. Segundus was quite at a loss how to deal with her attentions, never having been one for meaningless (or worse: calculated) flirtation. However, when Mrs Hernsby turned to speak to her maid about a house matter, Childermass leant towards Segundus and murmured, “Use that handsome smile of yours.”  
  
Segundus, quite overwhelmed at first, quickly learned to adapt to the situation, and in less than an hour they had secured Pike's books for Starecross School, and for a moderate price at that.  
  
On their way back, they stopped at the same inn where they had spent the night before. The thirty-odd mile trip to Bath could have been done in one day in one of the fine carriages the London Club sometimes lent to Starecross School, and perhaps even in the slightly less fine carriage the school called its own; however, all the carriages they had been able to obtain were being used for the school's sea-side trip, so he and Childermass were on horseback.  
  
“Ah, gentlemen,” the landlord greeted them from behind the downstairs bar. “I fear I have only one room tonight. You will have to share.”  
  
The magicians nodded. It had been rather extravagant for men of their modest financial means to have two separate rooms the night before, so this suited them rather well.  
  
Why then did Childermass look quite as uncomfortable as Segundus felt?  
  
“I cannot wait to start reading,” Segundus confided, their belongings and books upstairs while they were cramped into one of the inn's booths downstairs, celebratory ale calming them down and loosening their tongues.  
  
Childermass smiled. “I know what you mean. It is a good thing we have two books between us.”  
  
Segundus suggested that they each read a volume and make notes of the most interesting passages for the other, and Childermass agreed. “With you I can be sure your notes will be worth my while. I cannot stress enough how exhausting that cooperation with Simmons was.”  
  
Segundus laughed. “Yes, you may have mentioned this before.” Childermass had, in fact, railed against the fellow London Club member ever since the man had suggested they write an article together, and Childermass had found fault with almost every suggestion and turn of phrase the man had to offer.  
  
“I believe, Childermass,” said Segundus, raising his second glass of ale, “that you just payed me a compliment.”  
  
Childermass frowned. “It is not so very uncommon. I have told you before that I appreciate your writings on magic as well as your sense of judgment when it comes to recommendations on what one should read next.”  
  
“Yes, but that kind of talk is always followed by the next pointed remark about my shortcomings,” Segundus complained.  
  
“Oh come, Segundus. You do it as much as I. And I appreciate it – it keeps the mind fresh and lively.”  
  
Segundus had to admit to that being true.  
  
He also had to admit to being just a little bit inebriated. Why was his glass full again? Was there some magic at work here or had he just not noticed the landlord bringing them new glasses at every turn? And why were they cramped into such a particularly small booth? It was very uncommon to be physically so close to someone else, even to a colleague/friend.  
  
Perhaps friend was the more appropriate word. They did spend rather a lot of time together, didn't they, he thought. (A strange sort of warmth was starting to glow somewhere in his stomach.) And yet it never quite seemed like it was enough. (Was it the ale?)  
  
“It is rather fortunate that we have met,” Childermass was saying.  “I am not sure I would be quite as sane as I am today had I to spend my days only in the company of Vinculus and those dreadful men and women at the Club.”  
  
Segundus laughed again. “Come, come. There are a number of bright fellows and ladies there. I particularly recall that long conversation you had with Miss Thamesbury about the significance of swallows in the summer.”  
  
“Oh?” Childermass raised his eyebrows. “You were paying close attention, were you?”  
  
“Not as much as you,” Segundus shot back.  
  
They had drunk far too much when they stumbled up the stairs to their room, and because Childermass tripped over the threshold into their room, sought to steady himself on Segundus' shoulder, and Segundus also tripped over the threshold, they stumbled into each other's arms.  
  
“Pardon me,” Childermass murmured, disengaging himself, but only just.  
  
“Not at all,” Segundus stammered, took a full step back and hit the closed door with his head.  
  
“Are you all right?” Childermass, reflexively reaching out, met Segundus' own hand in mid-air.  
  
“Quite all right,” said Segundus breathlessly.  
  
There was a moment of silence.  
  
“You appear to be holding my hand,” said Childermass.  
  
“Yes,” said Segundus, and looked at their linked hands raised in mid-air. “Sorry.”  
  
Their hands fell to their sides.  
  
Segundus, who could not have moved even if the door hadn't been behind him, stared into Childermass' dark eyes, who held his in equally petrified astonishment.  
  
The ride back the next morning was nothing short of awkward, not so much due to Segundus' lack of experience on horseback, but mostly due to both men having a headache and finding it rather hard to look each other in the eye.  
  
Once or twice they passed a road that looked suspiciously like a passageway into Faerie, which would normally have been grounds for a new discussion, but Childermass rode on without a word. Halfway to Starecross, they stopped by a stream where they and their horses lapped up the fresh water, and the men sat watching the water flow down the stream while the horses grazed behind them. It was a peaceful scene, and yet both men felt a turmoil inside their chest they could not quite explain.


	6. Suppressed

_\- August 1819 -_

 

“May I ask you a question?”   
  
It was several months after Segundus' visit to Bath. The Honeyfoot family had invited him for Sunday roast as they often did ever since they had moved to Starecross. (Although Mr Segundus was by now well-known as the headmaster of _the_ school of magic and was making a decent, if not enormous living out of it, Mrs Honeyfoot still retained that motherly worry that had gripped her ever since her first acquaintance with him. She also knew how much he and her husband enjoyed spending time together; and she may have had one other motive besides.)  
  
Miss Jane, seated next to John Segundus while her eldest sister played the pianoforte and the youngest played cards with her parents, appeared quite pleased to have the schoolmaster to herself and to ask him any question she wished.  
  
“You certainly may,” Segundus inclined his head towards her. “Unless it is about a school matter, for in that case I must inform you that it is Sunday and I am contractually forbidden to discuss your studies with you today.”  
  
His pupil smiled. “It is not about a school matter, sir. In any case I am well aware that I must direct my questions to Master Hartley, and not to you or Master Honeyfoot. My father was very clear on this point when I started studying magic.”  
  
Segundus smiled. It was a mark of Honeyfoot's good sense that he would try to keep private and school matters as far apart as possible.  
  
“Ask your question, then.”  
  
“Well, sir, if you will permit me the inquiry, why do we see so little of Mr Childermass these days?”  
  
Segundus studied his hands for a moment. He was pleased to see that they were not trembling, although what went on inside of him was another matter entirely.   
  
He fixed his gaze on Mary Honeyfoot's fingers moving elegantly over the pianoforte because he found that the movement soothed him.  
  
“I was not aware that our pupils took an interest in Mr Childermass' visits,” he commented lightly.  
  
“Oh, we do not mean to pry, sir,” Miss Jane said hastily. “It is just that he... well, he does have that connection with Mr Norrell, whom we have heard so much about, and he is... how shall I put it... such a _practical_ magician through and through. I have scarcely seen him without witnessing an act of magic performed by him, and we...”  
  
She seemed thoroughly embarrassed now.   
  
Segundus smiled. “You are all itching to do your own magic, I know, and the school has rather strict rules about when and where it is to be done. It must be difficult to feel that you are being held back, but believe me when I say it is for your own good. Practical magic is not to be enterprised lightly.”  
  
“Sir, I did not mean to question the school's rules,” she said, colouring.  
  
“Do not worry yourself, Miss Jane.” He paused. “As to your initial question, Mr Childermass – who I am well aware exerts a certain kind of fascination on my pupils – has been much busy in London these past few months.”  
  
There were silent for a moment, then Jane said, “I cannot pretend I do not understand your meaning, Mr Segundus. Let me assure you that Mr Childermass exerts none of this fascination you allude to on me. I am quite impervious to that.” And calmly, she looked him straight in the eye.  
  
Segundus looked away quickly, back to Miss Honeyfoot playing the pianoforte. As luck would have it, she had just finished her piece, and noticing him looking at her, she turned and smiled.  
  
And as her gaze traveled to her sister, her smile turned just a trifle challenging.  
  
Segundus excused himself shortly afterwards, very troubled indeed.  
  


* * *

  
Lately Childermass had been dreaming rather often of the symbol that showed a horned circle with a line through it.  
  
It occurred over and over on Vinculus' re-written book-body, and Childermass had copied it and brooded over it many times, so it was perhaps not so surprising that it should occur in his dreams.  
  
Lately, however, his dreams had turned much more specific, and seemed to almost carry over into his waking hours. In the dreams, he felt that same symbol being drawn with an icy thumb over his eyelids and his heart, and sometimes while he was awake he would see that symbol still, as on a transparent sheet that overlaid the world in front of his eyes.  
  
It was deeply unsettling, but what troubled him even more was that he had first consciously seen it that night in the inn in Wiltshire. As they had stood mere centimetres apart from each other, staring into each other's eyes, he had seen the symbol hanging in mid-air in front of John Segundus, framing the other man's face although it was trying to tell him something important.   
  
Whenever he saw the symbol now, it made him think of Segundus, and made his heart do a curious leap.  
  
Childermass frowned as he turned the pages of Pike's book, trying to concentrate on the words.  
  
He had been keeping well away from Starecross ever since that night, and from the few communications he had had with Segundus (they still kept up their correspondence on the Raven King's book and on Pike's two volumes), he sensed that the school's headmaster was also in favour of a little more distance between them.  
  
They were in the middle of an unusually hot summer, which explained that he was not receiving any requests to do magic (weather magic having been strictly limited by the British government, of course, a regulation which Childermass had heartily approved of). This meant that he had ample time to look into his research regarding the Raven King's _brugh_.  
  
It was not, as Segundus claimed, that he wanted to find the King and bring him back. Childermass was a loyal servant of John Uskglass', and as such he did not think it right to disturb the King, wherever he was. He was sure he would come back when he was most needed – had done so, briefly, two years ago, although Childermass was not sure the King had even set foot on English soil at all and had not just controlled all the events through his prophecy, carried out by his vessels Strange and Norrell.  
  
No, when he said he was looking for the King's _brugh_ , it was only because it was as good a place to start as any other to learn more about Faerie and the ways of its inhabitants. The King's old home would be easier to find because of his connection with England, and it would be easier for Childermass to find it because of his heritage.  
  
Segundus was overly cautious as always and would do best to stick to the basic magic he taught his students.   
  
And he was also more than welcome to stop intruding on Childermass' thoughts.


	7. Requested

_\- September 1819 -_

  
  
Segundus, having reached the last of this morning's letters, made a startled sound and reread the letter, just to make sure.  
  
“Miss Sandalwood,” he approached his pupil during lunch break, “come with me.”  
  
As his pupil stood trembling before him in the library, Segundus could not help feeling a little sorry for her, again.  
  
“This letter,” he held it up, “reached me this morning, but was posted five days ago. As I understand it, there has been some trouble regarding the postal deliveries between London and Trowbridge, quite a few of my letters have been reaching me with some delay. – Be that as it may, it is a letter from Mr Childermass mentioning a dream he had, and I am rather astonished to hear this from him and not from you.”  
  
Miss Sandalwood bit her lip. “A – a dream about Mr Strange, sir?”  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
His pupil coloured rather violently. “Forgive me, sir, I was not aware – that is to say, it is not the first time I have dreamt – I was not sure it was really him, sir.”  
  
Segundus sighed. “I understand your reasons. But when Jonathan Strange attempts to contact you through the means of a dream, you come to me or one of the other masters, Miss Sandalwood.”  
  
“Yes, sir. Forgive me, sir.”  
  
Segundus nodded. “Readily, Miss Sandalwood. Now tell me about your dream. You may sit down.”  
  
Miss Sandalwood lowered herself into a chair. “Well, it was – it was five days ago exactly, sir. I dreamt I was back by that stream, only it looked different, more... like the Other Lands. Mr Childermass was there, and so was Mr Strange. Mr Strange was... well, he was floating on the stream, sitting on the water, or rather, he _was_ the water... it is difficult to explain.”  
  
Segundus nodded encouragingly. “What did he say?”  
  
“He said he needed us – someone to come into... well, it sounded like he said Wildbush. And help him with something. Only we would not actually meet with him because he could not risk anyone else being pulled into the Darkness.”  
  
“Help him with what?”  
  
Miss Sandalwood screwed her eyes shut and opened them again. “I cannot remember, sir. Forgive me.”  
  
Segundus opened up Pike's book on the page he had closed it the night before. There it was – that map the author had drawn of the land he had spent a year in, and written very clearly in the top right corner was the name he had given it, _Wildbush_.  
  
“Is Mr Childermass coming here, sir?” asked Miss Sandalwood, with a hint of that longing Segundus had detected in Jane Honeyfoot's voice.  
  
He nodded. “His letter arrives before him only because he had business to attend to on the way here. He should be here any –”  
  
The sound of hooves was heard clearly from outside.

* * *

  
“Maria, it is inconceivable that I let you go in there with Mr Childermass. We know next to nothing about Wildbush. You are my pupil and therefore under my protection.”  
  
Miss Sandalwood lowered her eyes to the ground, looking downcast, but also slightly relieved. “Yes, sir.” She looked back up eagerly and gestured at the entrance, barely visible between two butterfly bushes. “But Mr Childermass should not go alone. Perhaps you –”  
  
“I am perfectly able to go into Wildbush by myself,” Childermass cut across her, a note of impatience in his voice. “Besides, your headmaster has responsibilities. He cannot come with me.”  
  
Segundus shot a quick look at Childermass, who looked back at him evenly, perhaps with a hint of amusement around his eyes.  
  
They had not seen each other since their visit to Bath – since that drunk evening in the inn in Wiltshire on the way back. Childermass looked and acted the same as always, but his eyes now spoke more clearly to Segundus than they had ever done before.  
  
“I do have obligations I cannot neglect.” He was dismayed to find that he spoke with a slight tremor in his voice.  
  
“Naturally,” Childermass smiled.  
  
“I cannot leave my school to fend for itself.”  
  
“No, you cannot.”  
  
“Besides, my friends – Mr Honeyfoot...”  
  
“Quite.”  
  
Segundus coloured as Childermass continued to hold his gaze. He was only peripherally aware of Miss Sandalwood, who looked back and forth between the two, all confusion and innocence.  
  
As he embarked on the three-mile walk back to the school with Miss Sandalwood, only half attending to his pupil's excited chatter about what Childermass would find in Wildbush and about the tales she would tell her classmates, Segundus only hoped that Childermass would make use of the anchoring spell they had set in place in case he ran into serious trouble.  
  
It would be just like the man to die unaided out of spite.


	8. Bewildered

Childermass felt his every pore tingling as he led his horse slowly across the overgrown path. This was the old magic Strange had written about. (He had read his book, of course; Norrell had never been able to bring himself to get rid of his own copy, and had always underestimated Childermass' interest in books of magic.)  
  
He rode on quietly for another half hour until the thick trees made way for a clearing, in which stood the most charming cottage he had ever seen.  
  
He got down from his horse and tied it against a tree, leaving one of the two lavender threads hanging around the horse's neck and hanging the other one around his own. Segundus had suggested it as the most basic protection against enchantments.  
  
As he turned towards the cottage again, he could see that the lavender worked: the finely shaped wooden house covered in soft ivy and lilac now also sprouted spiking towers and bare, blackened rose-bushes.  
  
Wary, but determined, he knocked on the door.  
  
There was no answer in the form of speech; yet he could feel a presence inside inviting him in. He gripped the lavender with one hand, turning the doorknob with the other.  
  
“Knocking,” a high voice half-said, half-sang. “I remember that from others of your kind.”  
  
He swallowed and stepped forward into the circle of light cast by the large round hole in the ceiling. A woman sat in the middle of a bare room, cross-legged, wearing a bright smile. She looked more or less human, with a sweet, round face and long, dark hair. However, she also appeared to have plants growing out of her.  
  
“Forgive me,” Childermass said, making a bow. “I did not know the appropriate way of announcing my presence.”  
  
“Oh, people usually come in unannounced,” she shrugged. “However, they do not always come back out.” She flashed him another brilliant smile.  
  
Childermass, usually quite impassive to threats, remembered reading in Pike that it was bad form not to show some fear when intimidated by what he had called the Green Women; so he took a step back and looked suitably frightened.  
  
“Come, come,” she soothed him. “You are polite and nice, English magician. I have no reason to harm you for the moment.”  
  
He inclined his head. “I am, as you have already found out, an English magician. My name is Childermass.” She gave no reply, but stood up and started walking around him, studying him from every angle.   
  
“I have come here,” he continued as she made no reply, “to request your assistance. I believe you are in possession of an Emerald Drop.”  
  
Still she said nothing.  
  
“Two – friends of mine are currently in a difficult situation.” He found that even he was rather unnerved by her continuing silence and her smile, but he pressed on. “They are imprisoned in an everlasting Darkness which was imposed on them by an inhabitant of Faerie, and even though he is now dead – in short, they have found nothing to dispel –” He faltered.  
  
“You do not know yet, do you?” she asked, in a wondering tone.  
  
He swallowed. “Know?”  
  
Her smile, impossibly, grew even brighter. “So it falls to me to tell _somebody_ 's servant that he is his vessel of _something-or-other_.” Two words had been employed which he did not understand and which he suspected were not Faerie, but Wildbush language.  
  
Seeing he did not understand, she said it again. This time, 'somebody' was substitued by the Raven King's Faerie name.  
  
“The King,” Childermass said, thunderstruck. “I am his vessel? Of what?”  
  
She shrugged. She was still circling him. “I shall call it revealed-truth. It is a very simplified translation, but it will do.” She stopped right in front of him, and he thought his heart would stop as she lightly touched her thumb to both of his eyelids and then to his heart.  
  
And all of a sudden, his dream came back to him – except it was not a dream, it had happened, he had stood there in the moor and... somebody... something... had touched him exactly like that. Childermass stared at the Green Woman, hardly able to draw breath.  
  
“The symbol,” he stammered. “What does it mean?”  
  
“Revealed-truth,” she repeated, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And yes, I can help you dispel the Darkness which those two magicians carry with them. I have seen them roaming about in our lands. They have been wronged by a Fairy, and so have many of our kind.” She grinned a very scary grin. “But I cannot do it until you have revealed your very own truth. It is quite impossible for me to perform magic with an unfinished man.”  
  
There was a sudden rush of wind as she turned her back to him, and the next thing he knew, he was back on his horse, riding slowly in the direction of England.  
  
He frowned to himself. He could not remember how he had got here. And yet – he was riding back empty-handed, but he felt no inclination to turn his horse around. It was perhaps part of her spell, he thought hazily. But Pike had also warned against trying to use force, even the force of persuasion, against Green Women. So Childermass supposed he would have to go back another time when he had figured out why, in her eyes, he was an unfinished man.  
  
He was still engrossed in these thoughts when all of a sudden a dozen wiry little creatures jumped onto the path, cackling.  
  
'Tree-root gnomes,' he thought, alarmed, but it was too late, they had dragged him down from his horse, and he had only time to mutter one spell before they carried him away bodily on their shoulders.  
  


* * *

  
Segundus was reading to his pupils from Sutton-Grove when a sudden rush of wind came through the half-open window and carried a whisper into his ear, and he staggered backwards and dropped his book.  
  
Several of his pupils jumped forward to help him regain his balance, and Miss Sandalwood led him to a chair. “Sir? Is something the matter?”  
  
He paused a moment to collect himself, then said, “I must leave at once. Miss Sandalwood, please pick up from where I left. Page 343. I will trust you to return the book to one of the other Masters once the class is over.”  
  
Miss Sandalwood nodded, making no further inquiry and helping him up. Smiling at her briefly, Segundus thought how much the young woman had matured in the last six months alone.  
  
Segundus strode out of the house and straight to the stables, calling Thomas to saddle his horse. He must have looked a fright, because even Thomas, who had known him for more than two years, looked wary, but evidently did not dare ask any questions.  
  
The ride to the entrance to Wildbush seemed like the longest three miles he had ever ridden.  
  
He tied his horse to a tree and paused before he passed through the gap in the bushes, a sudden inspiration making him mutter a spell, tear off several branches of the summer lilac and gather them up into a bunch, which he held tightly in his hand.  
  
Having entered through the bushes, he stopped, his senses tingling. He had not, of course, taken into account that the trace of the anchoring spell, clearly tangible outside, would be mulled by all the other kinds of magic flowing through the trees and bushes around him.  
  
He screwed his eyes shut, willing himself to concentrate on that whisper, and slowly started setting one foot before the other. Childermass had been dragged into a far corner of the forest, and as Segundus felt the trace slowly growing stronger, he also heard what must be the man's captors. They sounded unbearably gleeful, and he hoped with all his heart that he was not too late.  
  
 _'Tree-root gnomes,'_ he remembered a passage from Pike's book, _'are essentially cowardly. They will attack one man, but not two, but once they have the upper hand, they will feel more secure.'_  
  
Secure they certainly looked, Segundus thought as he peered through the bushes at the clearing before him. They had tied Childermass very tightly to a blue-beech, and while one of them appeared to be engrossed in some sort of magic involving the tree, the others danced around, shouting and clapping their long, wiry hands.  
  
Childermass' head was lolling on his chest, but every so often he glanced up out of bleary eyes, and Segundus breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
He was about to surge forward when another inspiration hit him, and he muttered a spell directed at a lake he could glimpse through the trees behind the clearing. Strangely, he did not feel nervous as he often felt, unsure of whether his spell would work. His mind was perfectly clear, completely focussed on the purpose of freeing the man before him.   
  
And sure enough, the spell had worked: he could hear the sudden chatter of children's voices emanating from the lake, and the gnomes stood still, listening, then one of them cackled: “Little ones!” And half a dozen of them set off.  
  
That left another half dozen.   
  
Shouting at the top of his voice, Segundus charged into the clearing. Some of the shouting was spells, some of it nonsensical phrases meant to scare them off. Two scarpered at once; three were thrown back into the trees by his spells; but one remained, the one who had been performing the magic next to the blue-beech.  
  
The gnome bared his teeth, snarling at Segundus. Segundus stood his ground. “Be gone, creature,” he called, briefly astonished by how steady his own voice sounded. He raised his hand, ready to perform another spell. The gnome drew back, then threw a handful of earth onto Segundus and vanished into the trees.  
  
Segundus, trying not to panic, freed Childermass from his ropes, and draping the other man's arm around his shoulders, started dragging him forward. But he knew that the earth he had been hit with was enchanted. There was a fog lying over his mind, and he had absolutely no idea how to get back to England.  
  
As he stopped in his tracks, panting, Childermass – who appeared to be half awake now – held onto his shoulder with one hand and grabbed Segundus' right with the other.   
  
Segundus looked down at his hand and saw the bunch of lilac he was still gripping tight. Of course!  
  
He held the flower to his nose and drew in a long breath, then held it up for Childermass, and slowly, but surely, they staggered towards the exit.  
  
They collapsed onto the path just outside of Wildbush, and as Segundus held the other man upright, Childermass opened his eyes and looked at him – through him, almost as though he were seeing something else than just his friend.  
  
Childermass smiled, muttered, “Of course,” and fainted.  
  



	9. Revealed

_\- September 1819 -_

  
  
Childermass listened to the sounds of the house with his eyes closed. The boys playing cricket outside, the girls cheering them on; distant sounds from the kitchen, the cook commenting her own actions at the top of her voice as usual; Thomas somehow managing to be everywhere at once –  
  
Starecross. How had he got here?  
  
He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling of his room. So he had somehow managed to get to the house and into his bed? The last thing he remembered was being tied to a blue-beech by a dozen tree-root gnomes.  
  
That, he decided as he gingerly moved his aching limbs, had definitely happened.  
  
He cursed under his breath as more of his memories returned to him. Never mind how he had got here – how was he going to help out Norrell and Strange now? He had no idea how to fulfil the Green Woman's demands. 'Unfinished'? What did that mean?  
  
He washed and dressed considerably more slowly than usual, partly due to the exhaustion in his body, partly because he was very much lost in thoughts. After a while, a rumbling in his stomach drove him to the parlour, where he found Segundus and Honeyfoot having tea.  
  
Both gentlemen rose as he entered, Segundus, as it seemed, with some agitation.  
  
“You must be famished. I will fetch you some cold meat and bread from the kitchen.”  
  
“Thank you.” He sat down, feeling suddenly very small at the large table which usually seated four-and-twenty.   
  
Fortunately, Honeyfoot was a sensible man and did not inquire anything of him until Segundus returned.  
  
They sat in silence as one ate his supper and the other two sipped their tea. Finally, Childermass, feeling a little less like he was only half there, asked, “How did I get here?”  
  
“Oh!” Segundus called softly. “You do not remember?”  
  
“I find I do not remember much after I left the house of the Green Woman, no,” Childermass said wryly.  
  
“Oh!” said Segundus again. “You met one, then?”  
  
Childermass then related his visit to her cottage and her words to him. Some compulsion inspired him to leave out the part about the vessel of revealed-truth and his being an 'unfinished man'. He might tell this to Segundus later, when they were alone. He did not want to share with Honeyfoot yet his own connection to one of the symbols in the Raven King's book; not until he had understood it, at least.  
  
Segundus helpfully explained what had happened after Childermass had activated the anchoring spell, and Childermass mumbled his thanks. Segundus had evidently gone to a lot of trouble to get him out of there.  
  
“So when will you be allowed the use of the Emerald Drop, then?” asked Honeyfoot eagerly.  
  
Childermass shrugged. “I shall have to go back another time and find out.”  
  
A long silence ensued, until the grandfather clock in the corner struck six.  
  
“Well,” said Honeyfoot, “I will tell the children to get ready for supper.” He made to leave, then turned back to Segundus. “Ah yes – Mary was asking for you earlier. She was eager to discuss something with you, I forget what. Something to do with Burns, no doubt.”   
  
Honeyfoot smiled at Childermass. “My eldest daughter has a great interest in the history and literature of Scotland. Mrs Honeyfoot always says that we should never have named her Mary, does she not, Segundus? In any case, she speaks very fondly of the interesting discussions she has with Mr Segundus on these topics. – She was hoping to speak to you tonight after supper about something or other she found in Burns.”  
  
Halfway through the door, Honeyfoot turned back once more and said to Segundus, “Don't make her wait too long, John.”  
  
The click of the closing door cut into Childermass' heart like a knife.  
  
Glancing at Segundus, he saw two things: the symbol of revealed-truth, and a man who looked miserable and would not meet his eye.  
  
“Mr Honeyfoot wishes you to marry his daughter,” Childermass stated.  
  
There was a long silence.  
  
“I have not made up my mind,” said Segundus quietly.  
  
“I see.”  
  
They looked at each other for a long while.  
  
“I should go,” said Childermass in a toneless voice.  
  
“But you are –”  
  
“As soon as I am well enough,” Childermass added, “I will go back to London.”  
  
Segundus, looking down at his feet, stammered something ineffectual about Childermass being welcome to stay as long as he liked.  
  
Three days later, they parted.


	10. Fated

_\- November 1819 -_

 

“We really are most grateful to you, sir,” said Mrs Sandalwood, grasping Segundus' hand as her husband and her daughter, looking quite embarrassed, hovered at the far end of the hall. “Maria is quite changed. No comparison at all to the insecure girl we brought to Starecross two-and-a-half years ago.”  
  
“Well, she has been a great asset to the school, Mrs Sandalwood,” said Segundus, who had given up any hopes of extricating his hand a while ago. “And while I do believe she is now a fully learned magician – insofar as that ever applies to our profession – and I can let her go without reservations, she will be sorely missed at Starecross.”  
  
Maria Sandalwood looked even more embarrassed at hearing this. Nevertheless, as her parents said their farewells and moved on to speak to Honeyfoot, she hung back.  
  
“There was something I wished to speak to you about, sir,” Miss Sandalwood said in a low voice, sounding frightened by her own resolve. “I will see my parents off to Trowbridge, but I must come back for my things – perhaps I could have a moment of your time later tonight?”  
  
“Certainly, Maria,” Segundus smiled. “Come see me in the library when you are back. Mr Vinculus is coming to Starecross this afternoon, and I shall be working with him.”  
  
Miss Sandalwood nodded, looking excited. Few students had so far glimpsed a Reading of the Raven King's book, and Segundus could tell she appreciated the privilege.  
  
Vinculus was in a particularly difficult mood this time around. When he arrived, he flat-out refused to be read; Segundus had to remind him that that was what he received food and lodgings for. Vinculus grumbled, demanded more food, and it was quite some time before he could be coerced into the library.  
  
“You copied that bit already,” he complained as, in order to write down a certain passage, Segundus made him lift his right arm for longer than appeared comfortable. It was hard to believe they still didn't have everything: there really was an extraordinary amount of writing, and not being able to understand it certainly did not speed up the process of copying it down.  
  
“No, I did not,” Segundus objected. “I copied another part under your left arm a few months ago.” He paused. “Or perhaps it was Childermass who copied this one?”  
  
Vinculus gave him a scathing look, then snorted. “You can just ask me how he is, you know. Mind you he goes about it the same way. 'Mr Segundus must have found this part interesting too', et cetera. By God you two have been annoying ever since you fell out.”  
  
“We did not –” Segundus started out, then shrugged. How could he have described what had happened? He hardly understood it himself.  
  
But he sensed that Vinculus was growing impatient very quickly, so he decided to oblige him. “Very well. How is he?”  
  
“Well it's funny you should ask,” said Vinculus, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Not very well, I should think.”  
  
Segundus stopped writing. “What?”  
  
“Not that he told me so directly. But I'm a magician too. Yes, yes, not so high-and-mighty as you lot. But I can sense things. Also, I know as a matter of fact that a lot of his spells have been going awry.”  
  
Segundus swallowed hard and forced himself to go back to writing. “His commissions?”  
  
“Yup. He's had to go back a number of times to set them right. Always gets out with a good face, of course, telling them this or that in their house influenced his magic. Oh, he can spin a story, that one.” Vinculus sounded almost admiring. “And mind you I don't complain because one time he told a very rich couple that all the lamps in their house were blocking his magic, and when they got rid of them he let me have them.”  
  
Segundus stared down at his paper, his heart beating fast. After a while, he asked in what he hoped was a conversational tone, “And does he have a lot of commissions?”  
  
“Looks like,” Vinculus said carelessly. “What with more and more folk moving to the city and all, and the new machines leaving people dumbfounded – I saw this man recently who managed to cut off a whole thumb...” And he went off into one of his more uninteresting rants.  
  
“Perhaps it's the machines throwing off the magic,” Segundus suggested when Vinculus had finished.  
  
“Perhaps,” Vinculus shrugged. It could explain, thought Segundus, why his own magic had been so far off the mark lately. It was a good story to tell himself, at any rate.  
  
A knock on the door interrupted his musings, and he beckoned Miss Sandalwood inside. The young graduate approached him and Vinculus cautiously, as though afraid she might somehow erase any of the marks on Vinculus' skin just by looking.  
  
“New Reader?” Vinculus asked, looking the woman up and down.  
  
“Not quite,” Segundus replied. “Right, I think we are done for tonight. Thank you, Vinculus.”  
  
Vinculus gave a non-committal grunt, pulled his shirt back on and sauntered out the door, no doubt on the lookout for more food and drink.  
  
“I am sorry to interrupt, sir,” said Miss Sandalwood, hovering uncertainly near the door. Segundus gestured towards a chair, and she sat down on the edge of it.  
  
“Not at all,” Segundus smiled. “I was growing tired of him anyway.” It was only partly true. But by now, Segundus was accustomed to telling half-truths.  
  
“So here you are,” he smiled at Miss Sandalwood, noting that the woman looked very much at home in this library. “Newly graduated. Have you any plans for your immediate future?”  
  
“That was what I wished to speak to you about, sir.”  
  
Miss Sandalwood wrung her hands together, as she often did when she was nervous. Then she said in a rush, “I was wondering whether you would consider taking me on as a junior teacher.”  
  
Segundus stared at her. The request was not such a surprising one – but surely the timing was fated...


	11. Liberated

_\- November 1819 -_

 

And so we come back to the beginning of our story, and to the reason why Lucy, Childermass' housekeeper, did not manage to tell her brother the story she would have liked to tell.  
  
It was close to noon on a rainy autumn morning when John Segundus arrived on John Childermass' doorstep. His heart was pounding in his throat; he was very tired from having traveled from Wiltshire to London in two-and-a-half days and two nights; but he was determined.  
  
His knock on the door was answered by Lucy, whom he had met before, having come up to town several times in the last few years to attend a meeting of the London Club of Magicians.  
  
Looking a little worried at the state of him, she informed him that her master was regrettably out (Segundus was briefly relieved), but that he should be in soon, and would Mr Segundus like to wait and have some tea?  
  
He had twenty minutes of solitary (and rather anxious) reflection before he heard Childermass' key in the lock, and his dark voice in the hallway.  
  
How hearing that voice alone made his heart beat faster! Segundus could still not quite believe it.  
  
Childermass entered the parlour. He had evidently been told about Segundus' presence, but the surprise was still visible on his face. Segundus shook hands, apologized for intruding on him unannounced, and they exchanged a few awkward trivialities until both were tired of it, and Childermass sat down in the large armchair close to the fire while Segundus resumed his seat on the sofa.  
  
“So what brings you here?” Childermass asked without further ado. “Nothing serious, I hope.” He looked suddenly alarmed.  
  
“Nothing serious,” Segundus reassured him. “That is – no deaths or illnesses. But my visit is not exactly trivial in nature.”  
  
“I am glad to hear it,” Childermass said, a smile playing around his lips. “You are so often trivial.”  
  
“Quite.”  
  
Segundus was at a loss. He had rehearsed his speech nearly a hundred times during the journey; and yet, faced with Childermass' dark eyes, looking at him inquisitively... Now, no distractions, he told himself sternly. After such a long ride, it would be rather silly not to say what he had come here to say.  
  
“I have asked Mr Honeyfoot to replace me as headmaster of Starecross,” he blurted out, and had only time to congratulate himself on his elegance before he pressed on. “He said he would do it, if I was sure of finding suitable employment in London. So I wish to ask you whether you think there is space in town for another magician like yourself, one who works on commission for individuals. Not that I would do only that. I would also like to concentrate on my writings, and finish that Strange biography that I've been carrying around with me for years now. – At any rate I would not step on your toes, especially regarding your commissions from the government. Only you did say a while ago that there was more than enough work here to be had, and...”  
  
He trailed off, and there was a long silence during which Childermass stared at him.  
  
“You are leaving Starecross,” he said finally.   
  
Segundus had the distinct impression that not all of his speech had registered with Childermass. He repeated that he would indeed leave if there was a place for him in town.  
  
“But you enjoy teaching,” said Childermass. “Why would you want to leave?”  
  
Segundus had to concede that, although an answer to that question had figured in many drafts of his speech, it had not made it to the final version.  
  
“I find,” he said at last, his eyes not leaving Childermass', “that being at Starecross does not fulfil me as it used to.”  
  
He had to look away. The way the other man was looking at him was making his heart beat so fast, it would surely jump out of his ribcage any moment now.  
  
Childermass asked whether he had understood correctly: Honeyfoot would take over for him, and one of his former pupils would start as junior master? Segundus nodded, smiling. “There was no magic involved, in case you are wondering.”  
  
He was relieved to see Childermass smiling back. “Only the magic of serendipity, perhaps.”  
  
“My thoughts exactly.” He hesitated, then said, “So what do you think? Is there need in town for another practical magician?”  
  
Childermass rose slowly from his chair, and the time it took him to reach the sofa felt like half an age.  
  
“I would say that there is an urgent need,” he said in a very low voice, and then he bridged the gap between them and kissed Segundus.  
  
Segundus, overwhelmed, returned the kiss instinctively, but a sound from the hall made them jump and draw back.  
  
Childermass looked towards the closed door for a moment, then rose swiftly. “Excuse me. I won't be long.” And he strode out of the room.  
  
The faithful reader will remember what happened next with Lucy and Childermass. However, our story is not at an end: see Segundus walking distractedly about the room, passing a fretful hand through his hair and muttering “What have I got myself into?”  
  
Childermass came back soon and closed the door firmly behind him. “Forgive me. That was Lucy. She appears to have been watching through the keyhole.”  
  
“Ah,” Segundus managed.  
  
“Don't worry, I have made her promise not to tell anyone, and I am sure she won't.”  
  
Segundus thought that if he had come to town suggesting to defer to Childermass' judgment on his future, he might as well start now. He therefore decided not to worry about Lucy and concentrate on more immediate concerns.  
  
“I do not think she has ever done that before,” Childermass added as he approached Segundus. They  stood by the mantelpiece, a few feet apart. “I suppose my reaction to the news that you were here must have intrigued her.”  
  
“Oh?” said Segundus, trying not to let his nerves show. “What was your reaction?”  
  
“What do you think?” Childermass smiled and moved closer. Reflexively, Segundus took a step back.  
  
Childermass raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and Segundus swallowed. “Look – Mr Childermass –” The man in question raised his eyebrow even higher. “I did not come here to –” Segundus tried again. “That is to say – what just happened – it is not proper.”  
  
Childermass looked at him incredulously. “You will come to London for me, but you will not kiss me?”  
  
Damn the man for always saying exactly what he meant to say in a concise manner and without any hesitation, while he, Segundus, stuttered and stammered his way around it.  
  
“I –” He dropped his gaze.  
  
“I did understand you correctly earlier?” Childermass asked. He sounded as though he was trying hard to remain calm. “You wish to come to London... to be with me?”  
  
Segundus looked back up into those deep, expressive eyes. “Yes,” he said, and it was perhaps the first time he understood it himself.  
  
He had come here thinking he was determined, thinking he knew exactly what lay before him. But he had not allowed himself to think further than the declaration itself; and he had not taken into account Childermass' direct manner and his disregard for convention.  
  
“Then what is wrong?” asked Childermass.  
  
“That is the trouble. I do not know what is right and what is wrong anymore.” Segundus sat back down with a sigh.  
  
Childermass, still standing by the fire, gazed at him intently for a few moments. Then he smiled a little smile. “You know, for all that we always joke about it, I do forget sometimes that you and I come from such different backgrounds.”  
  
Segundus nodded slowly. “Your parents would not have told you that this kind of thing was... well, morally reprehensible?”  
  
“I did not have much in the way of parents,” Childermass shrugged. “But if they had ever taken the time to sit down with me and talk morals, I doubt that that would have featured much.” He frowned. “Do you mean to say your parents explicitly warned you against relations between two men?”  
  
Segundus shook his head. “Not in so many words. It was only ever alluded to. Although I suppose there was a story in the village about two men having run away together, but,” he smiled ruefully, “I did not quite understand what that meant. However, the Rector took every opportunity to condemn them.”  
  
“Naturally,” said Childermass contemptuously, sitting down, a little way apart.  
  
“And...” Segundus blushed. He knew this would give Childermass ammunition to tease him, but he felt he owed the other man the whole truth of the matter. “Well, my father did warn me once or twice against being too... soft-spoken, too understanding. He said it looked effeminate and I suppose he implied that that would invite speculation on my... leanings.”  
  
Childermass nodded. Segundus could tell he was making an effort to be patient with him. He was very grateful for it.  
  
“And what do _you_ think?” Childermass asked. His eyes bored into Segundus', and this time Segundus held his gaze.  
  
“I don't know,” he said truthfully. “I have been taught it's wrong.” He paused, remembering a certain afternoon at Starecross. “I have even on occasion told others it's wrong. But at the same time, if I have learnt anything these past few months – perhaps even years – it is that I am profoundly unhappy without you.”  
  
Childermass, his eyes blazing, moved closer and cupped Segundus' face with his hand, his thumb stroking slowly over his cheek. Segundus leaned into his touch, closing his eyes. At length, he covered Childermass' slender, long-fingered hand with his own. Holding their linked hands between them, they held each other transfixed with their eyes.   
  
Segundus knew he would have to blink eventually. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed Childermass.  
  
He had never kissed anyone before, but it did not appear to matter. Childermass moaned low and parted his lips ever so slightly. Segundus held on to the other man's arm with his free hand as Childermass kissed him more deeply, his tongue caressing Segundus' lips, then exploring further until Segundus dared to meet his tongue with his own, and it was electrifying down to the tips of his toes.  
  
They broke the kiss after half an eternity, and Segundus had to smile as Childermass looked at him with a fond expression he had never seen on the other man's face.  
  
“I shall give you all the time you need,” Childermass said, and held up a finger as Segundus made to reply, perhaps protest. “No, I mean it. I do not want you to rush into anything and regret it – and despise me – later.” He smiled. “Come to think of it, I am grateful to Lucy for having spared us that.”


	12. Unrestrained

_\- December 1819 -_

 

“Mr Segundus,” called Mrs Corden.  
  
Segundus sighed inwardly, tearing his gaze away from Childermass standing at the other end of the room, a crowd of people around him.  
  
He had hoped his article, published recently in the _New Friends of English Magic_ , announcing his departure from Starecross, would not be much talked about after the announcement Childermass had just made. And, indeed, most of the members of the London Club of Magicians were either crowded around Childermass' table or chatting excitedly in small groups about what Norrell's and Strange's return to England would mean. (There were some fearful faces as well, and those who liked to experiment with blasphemy speculated on which of the two would be madder.)  
  
However, Mrs Corden was not one to be easily distracted from gossip of any kind.  
  
“So you are abandoning Starecross and joining our ranks,” she said, squinting upwards. A nosy little person, she was among the few practical magicians in the London Club, though Childermass said he had not seen her perform a single useful spell.  
  
“Hardly abandoning it, Mrs Corden,” Segundus objected amiably. “I am leaving it in the excellent care of George Honeyfoot, a most trusted friend and skilled magician, and his two fellow teachers, Hartley and Sandalwood.”  
  
“Trying your luck working on commission, then?”  
  
“Indeed. Although I will also be concentrating on my publications.”  
  
“Word to the wise, sir,” Mrs Corden said. “Our kind of work – it is a hard lot. There are hardly any commissions to be had these days. And what with Mr Norrell and Mr Strange coming back now... the market is quite saturated.”  
  
“Her head is, more likely,” commented Childermass when they had finally freed themselves from the throng of people and were walking towards his house. “There are more than enough commissions to be had for magicians who know how to handle them.”  
  
“Good,” Segundus smiled. “I'd hate to think I'd been lured to London under false pretences.”  
  
“Lured to London!” Childermass looked at Segundus indignantly – until he saw that he was being teased. He was not quite used to being on the receiving end of teasing, as Segundus had noticed. “As I recall, _someone_ turned up on my doorstep four weeks ago – four interminable weeks, I might add – and announced that he was leaving Starecross.”  
  
They walked in silence for a while. Segundus was acutely aware of walking just a little closer to Childermass than they had done before. It was not close enough for touch; but he could feel the heat radiating off the other man. It was rather thrilling.  
  
“What about Strange and Norrell?” he asked finally. “Do you think their return will restrict our opportunities?”  
  
Childermass snorted. “I hardly think those two will stoop low enough to repair an entire mansion's wallpaper after it was scratched and sullied by the house dog, as I did this morning.” He shrugged. “But we will see. Did you hear me make the announcement, by the way?”  
  
“No, I was late. That last carriage from Maidenhead is always delayed, so I arrived rather late this afternoon.” Segundus smiled. “But I was there for the Club's reaction. I liked your comment to Chairman Baird about magicians not having to let politicians decide everything for them.”  
  
“Yes, well,” Childermass laughed. “As he had said a similar thing many times, he could not very well object to that.”  
  
“So manipulative,” Segundus scolded jokingly, and their hands brushed against each other as though by accident.  
  
After another ten minutes which seemed almost as interminable as the last four weeks, they arrived at Childermass' house.  
  
The first few minutes were rather awkward; they stood together in the hall, Childermass inquiring whether his journey had been a pleasant one and Segundus thanking him for asking his housekeeper to wait up for him even though she usually left after lunch.  
  
There was a slight smile around the corners of Childermass' mouth. Segundus thought he probably knew what the other man wanted to hear.  
  
“Tell me,” he obliged as Childermass led the way into the kitchen. “Did you not say that you extracted a promise from Lucy not to tell anyone about – well – us?”  
  
Childermass' smile widened. “I did.”  
  
“So why is there a rose at her mouth?”  
  
“I was hoping you would confirm that,” Childermass said as he poured them both some wine. “I see muffling spells differently, as you may recall. But with Lucy it is not nearly as clear as it was with Lady Pole.”  
  
“So you did not trust her to keep her promise.”  
  
“And I was right, wasn't I?”  
  
“Ah,” Segundus realized. “You mean I can see it now and not before because she had not broken her promise then.”  
  
“That was my theory.” Childermass looked terribly smug. Seeing the other man's disapproving look, he added, “And yes, schoolmaster, I will make sure the spell does not affect her in any other way.”  
  
“You are so pleased with yourself,” Segundus shook his head, “I think you deserve a proper schoolmaster's smacking.”  
  
“Do I, now.” Childermass' voice appeared to have dropped an octave. Segundus suddenly felt rather hot about the neck.  
  
Childermass raised his glass and drank, his eyes not leaving Segundus'. Segundus, his stomach doing a funny sort of somersault, decided he would not attempt a similar flirtation, but focus on keeping his hand steady for now.  
  
"Tell me, when do you take up your new lodgings?" asked Childermass, leaning against the counterpane ever so casually while Segundus sat at the table.  
  
"I get the key tomorrow."  
  
"Tomorrow!"  
  
Segundus smiled. "You would rather continue paying for my food and lodgings?"  
  
"Not necessarily. It just means I have only tonight to seduce you."  
  
Segundus coloured. That man! There was really no expecting what he would say next.  
  
"I see," he managed. "What happened to giving me 'all the time I needed'?"  
  
Childermass tutted and sat down very close to Segundus. "I'm sorry, but that went out the window when you sent that letter last week."  
  
Ah yes. That one had been rather full of double entendres, hadn't it.  
  
Tentatively, he covered one of Childermass' hands with his own. Childermass turned his hand around and wrapped it around Segundus'. For a moment they both looked at their intertwined hands, their thumbs stroking in slow circles. When they looked up at the same time, they were both smiling.  
  
They kissed, and it was both so natural and so exciting, Segundus was rather overwhelmed by the multitude of sensations. He wanted to touch everywhere at once, his hands stroking over Childermass' shoulders, down his back, while Childermass stroked his hair. Knee to knee at first, Segundus pulled his chair closer, intertwined their legs, and he could feel them both itching to be closer still.  
  
Childermass broke the kiss and stood up, drawing Segundus upright with him. "Lucy has prepared dinner," he said in a husky voice. "Am I right in thinking it can wait till later?"  
  
"Quite right," breathed Segundus, and they were kissing again, hands in hair, lips on lips, tongues on lips, hardly drawing breath. As Childermass drew him closer, their arousals pressed against each other, and they gasped.  
  
"Upstairs," whispered Childermass, and "Yes," whispered Segundus.  
  
They made it up the stairs to Childermass' room and divested each other of their shirts, passing hungry hands and tongues over their naked torsos. Segundus, who had never been touched so much in his life, was doing his best to remain on his feet. All of a sudden, Childermass, a dangerous look in his eye, grabbed Segundus by the shoulders, and they toppled onto the bed, laughing.  
  
Segundus gasped as Childermass sat astride him, stroking him and kissing him, going further and further down, coming back up for deep, hungry kisses. His hair was in disarray and his face was flushed. Segundus briefly realized he had seen the man like this before, in his dreams. It did not shame him. If anything, it aroused him even more.  
  
As Childermass made short work of Segundus' breeches, then his own, and sat back on top of him, Segundus stared at the beauty of the man before him before lifting himself up to kiss him everywhere he could reach, his mouth, his neck, his shoulders. Childermass trailed kisses down his collarbone, his chest, his abdomen, and Segundus moaned, letting himself sink back onto the bed, all modesty forgotten, all moral conflict long behind him. He could feel a delicious kind of tension building up inside of him, as if all his energy was flowing towards his lower body, yet also emanating from it.  
  
"Chil -" he called out in enjoyment as the man kissed him down to his hipbone, and Childermass paused, looking up with a frown.  
  
"I hope you're not going to call me by my family name when I've got your cock in my mouth."  
  
Segundus narrowed his eyes, his hands tightening on Childermass' thighs. "Always so vulgar," he complained breathlessly. "Unnecessarily vulgar."  
  
"Really," said Childermass, going back down to kiss that trail down to his hipbone. "Because I could swear I just felt you get a little harder."  
  
If Segundus had a reply to that, it was forgotten the moment Childermass delivered on his promise.  
  
He moaned and bucked his hips, and Childermass pinned him down with his arms as his tongue stroked along the side of his cock and he closed his lips around it, and Segundus' remaining tiny worry that this was maybe not as enjoyable for the other man as it was for him evaporated when he heard Childermass emit a very low moan. He heard himself gasp out moans, sighs, and words he did not quite know the meaning of as his lover licked and stroked and sucked, and he could feel himself coming close to climax far sooner than he had thought.  
  
Childermass must have felt him tense because he stopped what he was doing - Segundus gave a little whine in protest -, smiled and muttered, "Let yourself go, John. We have plenty of time to do this again."  
  
It felt like mere seconds after his lips had closed around Segundus' cock again that Segundus came, a surge of intense pleasure coursing through his whole body, a blinding light inside of his head.  
  
He almost felt a second similar wave when he realized that Childermass had just swallowed.  
  
"That was," he gasped.  
  
"Yes," Childermass agreed.  
  
"What can I..." He was woefully ignorant, he thought through the haze that was his mind post-orgasm, but he would just have to learn fast.  
  
"If you like," Childermass said in a low voice, "I could..."  
  
"Anything."  
  
Childermass laughed. "Don't be so quick with your promises, John."  
  
Segundus opened an eye. Childermass was lying next to him, propped up on his left arm, and he was looking at Segundus half-fondly, half-hungrily.  
  
"How would you like me to please you?" Segundus asked earnestly, and Childermass grinned, a real, toothy grin that one did not often see on him.  
  
"That is the single most polite question I have ever had asked of me in the bedroom."  
  
Segundus frowned and passed a hand through the other man's hair. "Please let that be the last time you ever speak of doing this with someone else."  
  
"As you wish." Childermass was still smiling. "Well, my dear, since you ask, I would very much like you to turn around," he gently rolled Segundus onto his left side so he was behind him, "and put your legs like this," he placed Segundus' legs on top of each other so that they were tight together, "so I can..." And Segundus felt Childermass move a little lower so his lips were on Segundus' upper spine, his arm was around Segundus' belly, and his cock pressed against the back of Segundus' thighs.  
  
"Just... so," gasped Childermass as he fitted himself tightly against the other man, and Segundus lifted his upper leg just a fraction to give him more access, yet enough friction, and he could hear the other man's breath hitch.  
  
"I can think of something else to do in a similar position," Childermass murmured, "but perhaps not on the first night."  
  
"I am eager to learn," Segundus replied, and this time it was definitely Childermass who got a little harder.  
  
They moved together, finding a joint rhythm, Segundus moving back towards Childermass as Childermass moved forward, Segundus every so often bending his head back and downwards so they could kiss, and every time Segundus looked at the other man, so agonizingly beautiful in his pleasure, he wanted to kiss him again, and do many other things to him he had not thought he was capable of thinking.  
  
Turning around fully, he pressed their bodies together, leaving just enough space for his hand to cover Childermass' cock, and he began stroking out a slow, steady rhythm which was punctuated only by their kisses and their moans. How pleasurable it was to give someone else pleasure, especially if the other person looked so absolutely undone!  
  
All too soon, Childermass cried out in climax and slumped against him, and Segundus held him tightly to his chest. They lay there, lazily stroking each other for a long time, until Segundus felt himself get hard again.  
  
Tonight was not the night he was going to get a lot of sleep.


	13. Muffled (Epilogue)

Jonathan Strange sat in Childermass' parlour, looking at his wife walking about the room. There was a deeply contented smile on his face.  
  
“I think you should have the walls redone, Childermass,” she was saying. “It is altogether too brown, don't you think, Jonathan?” She turned to her husband, noticed how he was looking at her, and blushed.  
  
“I shall follow your advice to the letter,” commented Childermass dryly, making a little bow, and she punched him playfully in the arm.  
  
Strange smiled. It had been a surprise, but a very good one, to find upon his return that Arabella had kept in contact with both Childermass and Segundus and seemed to be on very cordial terms with both of them.  
  
“So,” said Strange, turning to Segundus, sitting by the fire. “The biography of Jonathan Strange.”  
  
Segundus looked rather uncomfortable at that. “Did you read the manuscript?”  
  
“Most of it. The rest, Arabella told me. Sounds good. Some of it is inaccurate, of course, but a good biography has to be that.”  
  
“I'm glad to hear you say so,” Segundus smiled. “Murray sends somebody every day now to ask when he can publish.”  
  
“Publish it by all means,” Strange said, waving his hand. “And regarding your note – no, I do not think it is incomplete without references to what I have seen in the last two years. In fact, I rather fancy writing about that myself.”  
  
“Excellent, I look forward to that.”  
  
The housekeeper came in with tea and biscuits. Arabella thanked her and smiled at her. Strange, who often saw things his wife did not, shot a quick look at Childermass and Segundus. Both appeared to be avoiding his gaze.  
  
Hmm.  
  
“Norrell couldn't make it today, then?” he asked, not particularly interested but wishing to buy himself time while he thought about how he could get the housekeeeper alone.  
  
“He said he was busy,” Childermass shrugged. “Although I may have left him with the impression that I was expecting a large party, and you know how much he dislikes those.”  
  
Everybody seemed to be trying not to smile.  
  
When the Stranges said their goodbyes, Segundus hung back, and he and Childermass watched them through the window, ambling along the street arm in arm.  
  
“You decided not to tell him about revealed-truth, then,” Segundus commented.  
  
Childermass shrugged. “Sooner or later he will see it, anyway. But I think for now I would prefer to find out for myself – and with your help – what exactly the Raven King means by making me his vessel.”  
  
“Other than helping you understand the truth about us, you mean?” Segundus teased, and Childermass smiled and took his hand.  
  
“Other than that, yes.”  
  
Out in the street, Strange was taking care to linger – making Arabella look at many beautiful things in shop windows – as long as it took for the housekeeper to leave for the day. When he saw her walking down the street in the opposite direction, he made up a story about a book he had to get (it was not so unlikely) and told Arabella he would join her at home later.  
  
When he had caught up with the housekeeper, a long enough distance away from the house, he offered to walk her wherever she was headed. She looked at him oddly, but after some protest from her side and insistance from his, they walked in the direction of Mrs Corner's house, where she worked afternoons.  
  
Strange inquired about her position with Childermass. Lucy, for that was her name, said she was very contented. He asked whether it was not sometimes a nuisance working for a magician. She said it was very much to her liking. Finally, he asked what it was that Childermass did not want her to tell.  
  
She stopped in her tracks, staring at him. “Sir?”  
  
“You are in the midst of a rosegarden.”  
  
Seeing her confusion, he explained that roses stood for silence in magic and that she had probably been subjected to a muffling spell.   
  
Oddly, she looked not alarmed, but relieved.  
  
“I thought I was being punished for breaking my promise,” she confessed, quietly.  
  
Strange laughed. “He made you promise _and_ put a muffling spell on you? Cheeky fellow. Mind you I am not surprised. Albeit even more interested in what it was about.”  
  
She shook her head. “I cannot speak of it, sir.”  
  
He passed his hand once before her mouth. “The spell is gone.”  
  
She frowned. They were still standing in the street, half-way between her two employers' houses.  
  
Finally, Lucy shook her head. “Beg your pardon, sir, but I will not tell. It is my master's life and I will not talk about it.”  
  
Strange looked at her a good long while, wondering whether he ought to use some more magic to coerce her. Then he heard Arabella's voice in his head: “I am worried about what these two years have done to your judgment, Jonathan.” At the time, he had laughed. Now, he thought he was beginning to understand.  
  
He smiled and hooked Lucy's arm in his, leading her on towards Mrs Corner's house. He would drop the subject, then. Perhaps her judgment was, after all, better than his at the moment. Perhaps the matter was linked, anyway, to that new magical wave that he had felt emanating from Childermass: very interesting and definitely worth some investigation.  
  
“Your master is lucky to have you, Lucy.”

 

**The End**


End file.
